


Foreign Tongues

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Domestic Bliss, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Kitchen Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut, Tequila, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He couldn't tell what it was that made him react this way when she spoke spanish. Perhaps it was her sweet voice, thick with desire or her flawless accent. How the roll of her r's reminded him of the other remarkable things she could do with her tongue, or the fact that it took her hardly any time at all to pick up the language. He was just as attracted to her intelligence as he was her body. It was a frightening all-consuming desire for every part of her that enslaved him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreign Tongues

**Author's Note:**

> For fun, you might listen to the song "Loba" by Shakira.

Sherlock entered his flat at Baker Street only to be flooded with the aroma of warm spices that made his stomach lurch painfully. 

He'd been on a case and as such, had neglected to consume much more than tea and crisps for days. He'd come home not hoping for anything more than to pester Molly into making him a sandwich while he came down from his case high and consuming it quickly before collapsing on their bed for a marathon of sleep.

Such was their process, now that they found themselves pair-bonded (his term) and contentedly cohabitating. 

"Molly?!" He called into the flat, poking his head round the entrance to the kitchen to find her slouched in a dining chair in her dressing gown with a mess of limes and salt scattered before her, slamming down a shot of clear liquid.

She winced and shuddered as it went down.

"Bienvenidos!" She slurred with a lime wedge between her lips. "You're home early."

"You're drunk early." He pointed out.

She quirked a brow and looked at her wrist. "It's uh..." She examined her wrist for a moment, in confusion before realizing, "I am not... wearing a watch!" She burst into giggles. 

He couldn't help but crack a smile at her state. Alcohol had a tendency of enhancing certain personality traits in Molly that Sherlock, secretly (and not so secretly), found delightful. 

He glanced at his watch. "It's... Christ, it's 11:30 pm!" He furrowed his brow in thought. "I could have sworn it was still daylight when I got out of the cab..." He squinted and he wondered how that could be possible. 

"Mmm it must have been sometime today." Molly acknowledged pouring another shot. 

Sherlock laughed. "Slow down. How many have you had?" 

Molly squinted one eye as if trying to recall. "I think about... 5. This makes 6. Salud!" She sprinkled salt along the webbing of her hand. 

He watched in rapt fascination at the ritualistic way in which she drew her tongue over the line of salt, took her shot then bit into the lime.

She grimaced. "Bah! I will never get used to that taste!"

"Why do you keep drinking it?" Sherlock was unable to suppress a grin as he dropped himself into a dining chair beside her as if suddenly boneless.

"Well I had this wild idea of recreating a recipe I learned when I was working at the pueblo clinic in Mexico and then I thought... Margaritas! Make a night of it. But did you know there are a lot of ingredients in margaritas? I decided to hell with it! Thought you'd still be on that case. Wasn't it a 9?" She rambled.

"It was. Impressed?" He smirked and arched a brow suggestively. 

Molly smiled broadly. "Yes" she admitted. "That's my man. Quick, yet efficient." Before falling into another fit of giggles.

He looked slightly affronted, for her benefit, but took no offense. She was clearly just trying to take the piss...whilst pissed. She bore the classic traits of having been a bit rundown from a long, late night at work.

"What's for dinner?" He redirected. 

"Ah!" She looked suddenly excited. "Arroz con Pollo!" She announced with a flourish. Her face was flushed and she gave a crooked drunken smile.

"Chicken with rice?" He translated. "Not exactly haute cuisine." 

Molly pursed her lips and drew her arms across her chest. "It's not 'chicken with rice'." She spoke in her best Sherlock impression. "It's arroz con Pollo." She emphasized the roll of her r's. 

He blinked and bit his lip slightly. "Have I told you lately that I find it incredibly sexy when you speak Spanish?" He rumbled, edging his chair closer to her. 

"Solo cada vez." She replied huskily. _Only every time._

He groaned and leaned over the table to plant a kiss on her neck that made her shiver. 

It was a little kink they discovered when she was preparing for her trip to Mexico. He offered to quiz her on verbs and phrases. Each time ended with them spent on the floor. It's a wonder Molly managed to learn any Spanish the way Sherlock taught it.

"Ok..." She opened the tequila bottle. "You need to get on this level so I can violate you guilt-free."

Sherlock boomed with laughter. "Wouldn't that be _me_ violating _you_ _?"_

"Promises promises, Mr. Holmes." She traced his cheekbone with her lips as she poured him a shot. 

"I'm going to teach you the proper way to shoot tequila." She told him, reaching for the plate that held the limes. 

"This isn't tequila, this is mezcal. It's a common misconception." He explained, he propped his elbow on the table and leaned his face into his fist. "Tequila is made only from the fruit of the blue agave plant whereas mezcal can be made from any variety of agave, of which there are over 30. Thus, all tequilas are mezcals but not all mezcals are tequilas. There are also regional differences. Tequila is primarily distilled in the region of Jalisco while mezcal is primarily made in Oaxaca. There are also several distinct differences in farming, harvesting and distilling methods lending to variations in flavor profiles and-"

He stopped his speech abruptly when she took his hand, licked it along the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, and sprinkled a line of salt across the moistened area.

"That's fascinating, love. Time for some practical experience." She pressed a lime wedge into the salted hand and the shot in the other. "Lick the salt, breathe out, take the shot, then bite the lime."

He leaned back and squared his shoulders, preparing himself. Then carefully followed her instructions. Salt lick, exhale, shot -"Oh God!" He coughed and sputtered comically as his face turned red. "It's awful!" 

"The lime, Sherlock! The lime!" She gasped out through her laughter and he shoved the lime in his mouth, biting down. A bit of relief seemed to wash over him as the juice ran over his tongue. He still winced from the tartness but at least it soothed the burn of the liquor.

He pulled the peel from between his lips and dropped it on the table next to the rest of the discarded fruit peels. He put a hand against his stomach, steadying his breath while looking rather green about the gills. "Probably a mistake to try that on an empty stomach."

"Oh no! Of course." She hauled herself up and stepped over to the food simmering on the hob. "This is done anyway. I'll get you a plate." She turned the burner off with a click before preparing plates and silverware. She lifted the lid from the saucepan and a fresh wave of the savory aroma hit Sherlock. His stomach twisted again in anticipation and he groaned. 

Hardly a moment later a steaming plate was set in front of him a beautifully browned leg quarter sat on a bed of rice seasoned to a golden color. Bright flecks of diced veg dotted the the rice and was topped with a few sprigs of fresh coriander for garnish. _Or not._ He noted as she swirled the leaves in with the rice of her own plate. 

She saw him take note. "I know." She addressed. "But they put it on practically everything there and I developed a taste for it. Only, they call it cilantro."

He shrugged and did the same, mixing the fresh leaves in with the food and taking an experimental bite. He whimpered as the taste overtook him and dug in with enthusiasm.

"Es bueno?" She asked. Continuing their earlier flirtation. 

"Que sabroso." He spoke around a mouthful making Molly laugh against the back of her hand. He swallowed. "Almost worth the 3 months I spent dealing with Dr. Stimson while you were gone." He pulled a disgusted face. 

"That good?!" Molly was really shocked he was saying something that was not disparaging about her trip. All the post and phone calls from him were about how the trip was a bad idea and England desperately needed her back. "I should go abroad more often." She teased.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head emphatically. "In addition to the professional benefits your presence provides there are also the other more... _personal_ privileges I miss out on when you are absent." He smirked.

"Sorry, third world. Dr. Hooper can't help you because Sherlock Holmes can't handle a bit of blue balls!" Molly giggled drunkenly.

"I don't see why you're laughing. I think it's best for the world if you stay here and keep me from becoming a tyrant. Think globally, act locally. Ripples in the pond and all that..." He decreed, sternly. "Just stay here with me and I'll write a check to that Ethiopian fistula hospital."

This made Molly scoff. "When have I ever prevented you from becoming a tyrant?" The irony of him crediting her with preventing his tyranny while admitting he'd snooped enough to know where she was considering for her next trip, was not lost on her.

With half a plate finished he found himself reaching for the bottle of tequila/mezcal/who the hell really cares? Pouring himself a second shot. 

"Fair point." He conceded holding the small glass aloft. "But you're the pretty face to my iron fist. You round out my rough edges." He took the shot choking slightly less the second time, but still red-faced and gasping.

Molly smiled hazily. "So I'm like your Evita Peron?" 

Sherlock considered the statement a moment. Then answered, "Yes absolutely." He said with finality, then added, "Except that I don't know who that is." 

Molly was slightly agog. "Evita Peron, first lady of Argentina. There's a musical about her starring Madonna. Surely you've heard 'Don't Cry for me, Argentina'?" 

Sherlock nodded, pouring his third shot. "I thought that was Karen Carpenter..." This time he didn't skip the salt and lime, learning from the last endeavor that they much improved the experience. 

Molly drew in her eyebrows in confusion. "You don't know who Madonna is but you know about Karen Carpenter?"

Sherlock hissed as the liquor burned down his throat. "Mummy is a bit of a Carpenters fanatic." He explained. "God am I supposed to be able to feel this in my knees?"

Molly nodded "Good shit, eh?" Grateful for the change in subject. She wasn't exactly pleased that a conversation about how frequently he needed to fuck her had somehow gotten around to Mummy Holmes' favorite music. She decided to veer it back on track by slipping a bare foot up between his legs to brush his package.

He was in the midst of his fourth shot and if it hadn't been for how recently he'd drunk the previous three he might have choked again based solely on the sudden contact. He was however entering his alcohol consumption 'sweet spot', numbing him enough to register the contact with interest rather than shock. 

He put the glass down with a thud and raised his brow. "Molly, what've you got on under that dressing gown?" He asked in his deep rumbling baritone, with only the hint of a slur, sweeping his thumb over the corner of his mouth.

"Bragas y nada mas..." _Knickers and nothing more._ She responded seductively while gliding her fingertips over where her lapels crossed in a deep Vee between her breasts. 

Sherlock swallowed hard on the half-masticated bite still in his mouth and dropped his fork and pushing his plate away. "Ven aca. Ahora." He demanded. _Come here. Now._

He kicked away from the table to make room for her and beckoned for her to sit on his lap. She obeyed, leveraging herself up with both hands on the table and rounding the corner in a few steps. She fell back into his lap with a sigh.

One hand took her by her hip while the other trailed beneath the front of her dressing gown, cupping her breasts as he worked her neck with his lips.

Maybe it was the alcohol or the fact that she'd been aching for him for days but she wasn't in any mood to play coy. She arched into his touch, grinding on the thigh she straddled. She purred as she writhed against him. Letting him know, under no uncertain terms, exactly what she wanted.

He moved his hand from her hip, pushing aside her dressing gown and trailing his fingers along her slit to circle her clit through her pants. "Te gustas?" He grumbled, taking her earlobe between his teeth to nibble. 

She gasped, grinding harder against his thigh and bucking against his fingers. "Mas!" She whispered her voice needy and insistent. The hand that snaked between their legs to grip his erection, however, was demanding.

He rose to his feet suddenly, pushing her down forcefully so she had to quickly sweep away the plates and silverware to make room for her to drape herself over the tabletop as he loomed behind her, curling around her body his hands found her dripping core again.

"Quieres mas?" He asked forcefully, winding his fist into her hair and pressing his heated erection between her thighs.

"Mas, Papi!" She gasped rolling her hips against him. 

He groaned and she felt his cock twitch between her thighs when she called him 'Papi'. The last of his patience crumbled to dust at her desperate needy groans, begging him for more. He tore down her pants with a growl, pushing her legs further apart with his knee, forcing her into a wider stance. 

She lifted one knee onto the table and arched her back, stretching her body to showcase her curves and slick pink folds to their best advantage. Shamelessly wanton, she pushed back against him, reaching for his heat and the press of his body. 

He gasped and his hands dropped away. She spared a glance back at the man behind her who seemed lost in the sight of her. He leaned his hip against the table, took her by the chin and claimed her lips in a proper kiss, their first of the evening. 

He could not enter her without giving her a proper kiss first. His unflinchingly rigid sense of order simply wouldn't allow it.

It started out tender and heartfelt but soon grew frenzied. All lapping tongues and nipping lips, Molly reached to undo his trousers with one clumsy hand, tugging impatiently at the top button that refused to release.

That was quite enough romance as far as she was concerned. She was in no mood for a sweet langorous session of love making. At this moment all she wanted Sherlock to do was to fuck her quick and dirty and _now_. 

Sherlock smiled inwardly, she had accused him of being "quick yet efficient" if that were true, it's because she's trained him to be. When they first became involved he'd soon learned that Molly much preferred to punctuate a productive day with several short filthy encounters scattered throughout, over lazy days whiling away the hours in bed.

Meaning many of their trysts did not occur in their bed or even their flat. At her behest, they'd defiled nearly every place they visited with regularity (public and private). Including John and Mary's guest room and the ladies room at Angelo's. 

While only having been officially together for a year they'd been having sex for nearly 18 months (his definition of "official" was not her definition of official. Therefore those first 6 months don't count toward the total length of the relationship, apparently.)

And in that time he could barely count on both hands the number of times she let him take his time and explore before going mad with lust and clawing at his resolve until he broke down and pounded into her relentlessly. Tonight would be no exception but he couldn't help but indulge in a bit of teasing. 

He rose to resume his position behind her, taking a moment to open his trousers and shuck the band of his pants under his bollocks. He gave himself a few short strokes before lining his hips against her arse, curling his pelvis to tease her folds with the head of his cock. Leaning forward, he reached past her to pour another shot. Her face fell as she watched him with slowly simmering anger as he continued to brush her heat with his cock.

Pulling the hair to one side, exposing the flesh of her neck on the opposite. He licked a hot stripe down her neck followed by a trail of salt. He followed the pattern Molly had shownhim, drawing his tongue over the salt before taking the shot. The cold burn of the liquor both soothed and fueled the fire growing in his belly.

With a grimace, he moved his hand down to return the glass to the table he felt something cool brush his lips. Molly was tracing his cupid's bow with a lime wedge. He could feel the tang of the juice burning his raw lips. Shifting his stance slightly, he aligned himself with her body and bit down on the fruit as he sheathed himself inside her. 

She nearly buckled from the sensation, emitting a tortured hungry groan and bracing herself with both hands. These first moments of their bodies joined were his favorite part. He always took a beat to revel in the feeling of her wet satin cunt surrounding him in heat.

Too soon, she grew impatient and moved against him, urging him to thrust. He obliged, moving in and out of her with rhythmic, self assured motions. She met the joining of their bodies with an arch and a groan. 

When she got too comfortable with their give and take he decided to change things up by rotating his hips as he entered her, then driving upward. She trembled beneath him, the sheer power behind his thrusts were impossible to match and soon he was overtaking her.

Her arms finally gave under her after she managed to absorb half a dozen pounding up-shots. 

The cool wood of the table was a welcome respite in her overheated state and she drew a second leg up onto the table, giving him the perfect vantage to slip deeper inside.

He angled himself on the upstroke just so, causing his member to bump into her swollen g-spot. She writhed and thrashed beneath him. His clever, buttoned-up pathologist was like a trapped nymph beneath him, a wild and exciting creature that he could never hope to tame. Not that he wanted to.

"Duro!" She demanded between her gritted teeth. "Mas duro!" _Harder_. She was exploiting his kink, to their mutual satisfaction. She knows exactly how to properly motivate him.

He couldn't tell what it was that made him react this way when she spoke spanish. Perhaps it was her sweet voice, thick with desire or her flawless accent. How the roll of her r's reminded him of the other remarkable things she could do with her tongue, or the fact that it took her hardly any time at all to pick up the language. He was just as attracted to her intelligence as he was her body. It was a frightening all-consuming desire for every part of her that enslaved him.

Sherlock gripped her by the hips and pulled her against him, slamming into her with everything in him. She cried out until her throat was raw as he found her clit, pinching and teasing until he could feel her body tense at the onset of her climax.

He slowed the movements of his pelvis while he quickened his movements over the tight bundle of nerves between his fingers. The pressure built up inside her and she tried to fight it, she always tried to fight it. She would never willingly fall over she wanted to be pushed. 

He settled deep in his stance and pushed her over the edge with two or three more powerhouse thrusts. Her calls were primal and ragged as the walls of her pussy contracted around his length.

In the wake of her orgasm she was always eager for him to finish inside her. His warm seed was like a balm for her aching sensitive flesh, raw from vigorous use. It only took a few final stuttered strokes before he gave her what she wanted. Groaning helplessly while he pulsed inside her.

"Ahh!" She sighed in relief as she felt the hot gush of his release soothing her tender channel. He rested his head between her shoulders as he caught his breath. 

He slipped out of her and collapsed on the chair behind him, sweat dampening his shirt. His shagged out coordination made unbuttoning it difficult. He watched in amusement as she dropped one wobbly leg from the table, feeling for the floor to dismount.

He chuckled softly and scooted forward in the dining chair so that he could pull her down onto his lap. She curled against him. Wild beast in heat, now a warm purring pet, settling her head into the crook of his neck.

She nuzzled his throat while his hands trailed over her arms, the sweat on her skin was already cooling and goosebumps were raising over her and his warm hands soothed the shiver. 

"Molly, could you?" He gestured toward the buttons of his shirt. She nodded against his throat and by feel alone, managed to make short work of his buttons and cuffs. 

"Ah thank you." He exhaled at the cool air hitting his sweat drenched skin. 

"Don't thank me yet. I'm going to need you to drag me to the bed. I don't think I can manage on my own. My legs have been fucked to death." She murmured lazily, a smile in her voice.

"Christ, maybe we should make an effort to shag in bed more often." He suggested jokingly. 

"Like normal people?!" She asked incredulously. "I think I'd rather crawl to bed." 

He chuckled sleepily. "I think I'd like to see that."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr. Join the party! www.tumblr.com/o0katiekins0o


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